Dixie's Land
by Fhaatra Joysword
Summary: My first attempt at a Hetalia fic, starting with a Confederacy fic. Only rated T so far for some cuss words, I'm just paranoid.


_**I have no clue with accents, and slang comes off the internet please excuse me on that. Short, but my first attempt. Hope you like it.**_

_**~Joysword(and don't tell me some of you more perverted or less mature didn't giggle or double check that name)**_

_Before I forget, Alexa is slightly different than any other Confederacy OC I've tried to write. She did not want the war, and she was not a fan of slavery. She was the 'mother' of all the southern states, and was forced into war by those who seceded from the Union. However, most of those States were killed by Alfred in battle. __South Carolina, Mississippi, Alabama, Virginia, Arkansas, North Carolina and Tennessee were all killed. Florida, Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas survived. This is why she dislikes Alfred, but doesn't all-out hate him, as it was war and he didn't even know the States were some of the soldiers, much less among the killed. She still sees fit to almost always refer to him as 'damn Yankee.'_

Alexa Mae Lee stood before her mirror, reviewing her outfit for the day. She'd decided on her normal jeans and red flannel combo, with a tank top that said "If you don't like my Rebel Flag, You can kiss my Rebel ass." with the Battle Flag of Northern Virginia in the background. She secured her hair in two long, low ponytails, and began pulling on her steel-toe boots. As she finished pulling on her boots and lacing them, her phone rang, the song 'American Idiot' started playing. "What do ya want ya damn Yankee?" she answered, placing her notes for her next futile meeting with her fool of a brother into her briefcase. "Um, Mr. Jones is rather sick. He's on bedrest, so you are to attend today's world meeting in DC." her brother's secretary squeaked. "Got it. Make sure he doesn't get out of bed anyway, little Yankee Rose." she said, then hung up. The blond's secretary was really too shy for her own good. She sighed, then took a taxi to the meeting place. She'd been in DC for tomorrow's meeting with her brother, so thankfully, she wouldn't have to call the idiot in sick. On a whim, she decided to take her twin pistols.

Alexa got there early, glad she wakes up at the back crack of dawn on habit. She set up a sound recorder and a video recorder, not willing to take notes, and decided that she'd send a copy of both to her annoying brother later. She was glad that her brother had, as the host, been first on the list for speeches. When everyone was seated, she began roll call to kill some time, ignoring the looks and scattered whispers. Upon finding that everyone was present, plus Prussia and two micronations she allowed to stay because they annoyed people with their mere presence, she started. "Okay, since the damn Yankee is sick, I am filling in. Do not interrupt me during my speech. My name is the Southern United States, the Confederate States of America, or Dixieland. Y'all are to refer to me as Dixie." she introduced herself to the world at large, and proceeded to give her fifteen minute speech on global warming(set aside money to discover and produce more green tech). "This is 'bout the time that me and the damn Yankee's meeting would go to hell in a handbasket, so I'm done. Next." She sat down and waited for the next person to go.

At the end of the meeting, three fights between France and England, six 'PASTA' exclamations, two Italian cursing matches against an unfazed Spain, and no less than twelve fights between Peter(Sealand) and England over being a nation, she stood, collected the miraculously intact camera and recorder, and stopped their recording, shoving them into her briefcase with her notes. Then she stood in front of them again. "If I have my way, and if the good Lord's willin' and the creek don't rise, this will be the last time I have to fill in for the damn Yankee. So skedaddle." she said, then walked out the room.

**_Tada! My attempt at chapter 1 of a Dixie fic!_**


End file.
